Stage Kissed

  Her eyes turn a lighter blue and she stands straighter. “That’ll work. Okay, phew. I will get to that. You do—” she looks over my shoulder and grins at someone behind me—“whatever it is you have to do, and we’ll meet Thursday after your basketball game, at my house. Keep an eye out for my email.”

  With that she spins on her heel and disappears amongst our classmates.

  “Kate, you’re doing yearbook again this year, right?” I turn to Aaron, the boy Candace smiled at over my shoulder. Everyone knows they’ve been dancing around each other for months. I’m sure relationships are fun and all, but—

  “I know you said it got a little crazy last year with basketball ending, the musical in full swing, and soccer season, but you really do have an ‘in’ with everybody. We need to make sure all the student body is represented, you know?” Aaron pushes his glasses up his nose, his eyes flicking in worry as I sigh loudly and close my locker door, hoping I managed to grab everything I need.

  “I don’t know, Aaron—”

  “It won’t take that much time. I promise.” He glances at an invisible spot on the wall when I turn to face him again. “Just take a camera with you wherever you go. Snap a bunch of pictures. Ask your friends to give us pictures. We really just need a lot of pictures.”

  I lay a hand on his shoulder, hoping he won’t start hyperventilating. It sure looks like he might. His nervousness is making me anxious.

  “Okay, okay, Aaron. I’ll do it.”

  Finally, he looks at me, an elated expression on his face. “Thank you! Thank you so much.” His hand rises and almost touches my shoulder, but he pulls back before it does. “I’ll see you around. The first meeting is on Thursday!” he yells as he runs down the hall.

  Meetings? I don’t want to go to meetings. And Thursday won’t work. I bury my head in my hand, balancing my books on my hip, as I turn on autopilot to get to National Honor Society.

  “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I yell as I run right into someone wearing a zip-up hoodie, scattering everything we were carrying across the floor. I drop to my knees and start grabbing my items.

  “It’s okay. N-No big deal,” a voice says next to me as he gathers his things as well.

  I look up from my scattered stuff to see Converse sneakers, then khaki pants, and finally meet soft, gray eyes.

  “Oh, hi, Seth.” The muscles up and down my back, in my shoulders, and through my arms relax. “I hope there was nothing fragile.” I gesture to the stuff now back in his hands.

  He shrugs, looks away, then looks back. “I-It’s tough to break mathematical proofs. Though many of us would like to, sometimes.”

  I half-laugh, not sure if it’s supposed to be funny or if he just didn’t make much sense. He’s got a sour look on his face as he focuses on anything but me.

  “Great job again last night at work. I can’t believe that was your first time.”

  His cheeks are red. I wonder if he’s in a hurry to get somewhere, and I’m holding him up.

  Gray eyes find mine. “Th-thanks. I had a good teacher, so that helps a lot.”

  “I didn’t teach you much. You figured out how to make the perfect smoothie. And to think, they’ve been wasting so much of the smoothie ingredients for years now. We should talk to Harry about that.” I punch him on the shoulder and his eyes get huge. Oops, perhaps he doesn’t like to be touched. Taking a step back I say, “We should have you train everyone else.”

  Seth runs his fingers through his brown hair. It immediately falls back so a small piece is over his eye, upping his cute factor. He must not understand what he’s got going for him, or he wouldn’t be so unsure about himself. I hold in a laugh as two freshmen girls look at Seth and then turn to whisper to each other as they rush down the hall.

  “Well, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or anything. It’s just when I calculated out the amount of ingredients and money we would save with each smoothie we make, it is—”

  “Kate! Are you coming?”

  My head shoots up to look around Seth. Brandon’s yelling from the National Honor Society room. I slap my head, accidentally hitting the bump, and hiss at the pain radiating through my brain.

  “Sorry, Seth. We’re going to have to talk later, okay? I’ll see you at work?”

  “Y-Yeah.” He shrugs and backs up into the wall so I can walk by. “I’ll see you at work.”

  When I’m halfway down the hall I look over my shoulder to watch Seth’s dark-navy jacket meld with the students still milling around after school. And I realize for the first time today, during the three minutes I spent with Seth, I was finally able to catch my breath.

  Silence. The perfect sound, in my opinion. The third band room on the left, away from the crowded hallway, blocks out everything—well, everything but the gears in my head, which are about to shut down as I take out my 73 cm cello. I tighten my bow, pluck the strings and hum along with the notes, adjusting the A and C strings that went sharp with the cold of the band room. I haven’t used a tuner since before sixth grade.

  If silence is the perfect sound, music is its cousin. The sheet music to Oklahoma! sits in front of me, but I don’t think I can deal with more school stuff right now. It’s not like I’ll be in the orchestra pit during the performances anyway. I’ll be up in the audio booth with Dylan, making sure Tommy doesn’t drown out the rest of the band with his electric guitar.

  I slowly run the bow over the strings, starting a piece I only play when I need to clear my head. I always need an eraser to run through my brain on Mondays. School was just the beginning of it. Four chapters in English I gotta read by Wednesday, two pages of statistics notes, and a paper on Ernest Hemingway, not to mention the auditions for the play are tomorrow. That means…

  The door creaks open, filling the silent room with noise from the hallway as people fight to get to the parking lot. My best friend—well, only friend, really—pokes his head in and says with a slight tilt of his lips, “Knew I’d find you in here.”

  “Need a minute,” I answer, resting my bow against my leg. I’m not much for playing solo around an audience.

  “Well, Mr. Steiman and Mrs. Pramble want sound crew to make sure everything’s working okay in the booth.”

  “Yeah, I figured.” Our theater teacher and audio director pointed out that the AV room hasn’t been used since the opening assembly back in September—not counting the few people who go in there to make out, but I don’t think the teachers have wised up to that yet—and so they asked me and Dylan to do a sound check before the major auditions.

  “So you coming?” Dylan asks, widening his eyes a little. “I’ve got stuff to do at home, so we’ve gotta do it quick.”

  I take one look over the top of his red hair at the still-crowded hallway and shake my head.

  “You head home. I’ll check it when I’m finished up.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod.

  “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow for the auditions then.”

  “Yep.”

  He gives me a friendly nod before shutting the door, cutting off the noise from the hallway again. He’s probably the only person who gets my aversion to noise and crowds and people, minus my dad since I’m basically a younger version of him. So whenever Dylan and I hang out it’s usually just us and a couple of Playstation controllers. That sums up my social life.

  I crack my neck from side to side and try to forget about another thing I gotta do. I still have to get those geometric equations to Mrs. Cummings before she leaves, but I ran into Kate and turned into a sweaty, shaky idiot. So, even though I should be turning in homework and making sure all the gadgets work in the AV room…I’m in here. Me and my cello—and no one else.

  I run the bow over the strings, and after two notes I stop to put some rosin on the bow. Then start again, and bam. Just like that, my brain turns off to everything but the notes floating through the soundproof room.

  I really thought it’d only been a half hour. But after I set the cello
back in the closet, step out into the hallway, and look out the school doors, it’s dark outside. And suddenly the ache in my arm from running the bow across the strings pulses, making me feel like I should really wear a watch so I don’t end up playing for hours on end.

  Even though it’s a lost cause, I walk over to the auditorium and tug on the doors. Locked. So much for testing that equipment before auditions. Dylan’s going to be pissed.

  Running a hand through my hair, I shoot him a text letting him know I’ll be up at the buttcrack of dawn to take care of it. Then I shrug my way out the doors to the parking lot. Just as I’m pulling my keys from my overstuffed backpack, a voice startles them right out of my hands.

  “Hey! Seth? Is that you?”

  At least I didn’t run smack into her face this time.

  “Uh, hi, Kate.” I bend and grab my keys off the wet asphalt. “What are you doing here?”

  Her face is flushed, long brown hair sticks out of her ponytail, and her shirt clings to her body with sweat and what looks like grease. There’s something about the sweat on her forehead and the way that shirt is hugging her… I gulp, and force my eyes to meet hers so she doesn’t notice me ogling.

  “Please tell me you have jumper cables,” she says through a breathy laugh.

  I nod and lead her to the trunk of my Toyota. Another breathless chuckle comes out her mouth.

  “This your car?”

  I nod, tugging the emergency bag from under a pile of books, hoodies, and my robotic equipment for MESA.

  “I love my Corolla,” she says as she points to the white car a few stalls away. “I’ll meet ya over there?”

  I nod…again. Because I’m incapable of saying the word “yes’” apparently. And my mind is still on how cute Kate looks, all sweaty and greasy. After getting in my car, I internally scream at myself to speak more than two stuttered words to her. I can do that. I had a whole conversation yesterday without stumbling over myself. She was sweaty then, too. And smelled like fruit from all the smoothies.

  My foot lands on the brake, stopping the car so the engines face each other. She’s smiling this big relieved-and-tired smile at me. My hand slips on the door handle as I get out.

  “I think it only needs a jump. Well, at least I’m hoping that’s all it needs.”

  I peek over at her engine.

  “Looks good under your hood.”

  Really? It’s the first non-shaky sentence I say today, and what a winner I’ve picked. Thanks, Dad, for passing along the social ineptitude.

  “Well, that’s good.” She chuckles, reaching behind me to lift the hood on my car. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She probably thinks I’m a pervert now, since I keep staring at that shirt clinging to her waist, and I popped out that genius line. What is with you, Brain? Usually you are so on top of things.

  I grab the cables and put the red on positive, black on negative, the way I was taught six months ago when I got my license.

  “All right,” I say, hopping over the cables and jumping in her driver’s seat, “let’s fire this baby up.”

  The roar of her engine drowns out any response she may have had for my lame attempt to sound cooler than I am.

  “Oh thank you!” Her arms swing over my shoulders the moment I’m out of her car. They’re only there for a second, but that second is long enough for me to almost lose consciousness. Is Kate Ryan hugging me?

  I’m just not fast enough… I don’t touch that waist I’ve been looking at, feel the damp cloth under my fingers, or press my hands into the small of her back. She’s gone before I have a chance to do anything but stand there like an idiot.

  She tugs the cables off, being careful not to touch them together, and hands them to me. “Seriously, this has been the craziest day. Meetings and homework, and the whole yearbook thing. And I’ve really got to get home to—”

  Her eyes meet mine before she shakes her head. “Never mind.” She takes a deep breath and rubs her temples. “I just really appreciate it.”

  I’m about to nod, but stop. I’m gonna actually use words this time.

  “Sure, it’s no problem.” I give her a half-smile and pull the hood down on my car. “Sometimes I think there needs to be more time in the day. Especially when stuff like this happens.”

  “I think that all the time.”

  We both chuckle a bit, and she relaxes against her car. She rubs her hands up and down her arms, and like I’m on autopilot or something, I unzip my hoodie and hand it to her. She smiles and takes it, shrugging into its warmth. I’m glad she’s sweaty too, so she doesn’t notice just how much I’ve been perspiring since we started talking.

  That’s when it hits me. Didn’t she say she was in a rush? I mean, Kate’s always running somewhere it seems. I see her and wonder if that’s what I look like going from place to place, minus the getting interrupted by a million people. Maybe that’s why I’m not as harried about doing everything I need to.

  “So, uh,” I stammer, guessing she’s not done with conversation, “what are you doing here so late?”

  “Well…” She blows out a breath. “That Honor Society meeting took forever, and then I had to take some pics for the yearbook. By the time I finished, most of the clubs had left, so no one was here to give me a jump and cliché of all clichés— ” her fingers fumble in her pocket before she pulls out her cell—“battery died.”

  “Good thing I stuck around, I guess.”

  “Yeah, why are you still here?” She tucks her phone back in her jogging pants.

  “Practicing.”

  She rolls her hand in the air, telling me to keep going. I let out a snort and lean against my own running car.

  “Cello. Gotta get in at least a half hour a day. But, I, uh…lost track of time.”

  “Oh, I hate when you get so caught up in one thing, you forget about everything else. Like, right now I know I have to get home and work on a few assignments, but it’s nice to just, I don’t know…”

  “Breathe?”

  Her dark, round eyes connect with mine for a split second before I chicken out and stare at my hands.

  “Exactly.”

  We pause, and the gears in my head start cranking in overtime again. Wait…did Kate just say she’s getting caught up in…talking with me? Maybe she didn’t realize she said it, but that’s how it sounded. Maybe she means “talking” in general. But she’s fiddling with the extra hairband on her wrist and tapping her foot like she knows she has to go, but she’s choosing not to. She’s choosing to stay here and talk with someone who can’t form two sentences without analyzing every single detail about them.

  “So, you’ve been playing cello this whole time?”

  I nod. “I was supposed to check the AV equipment, but the auditorium’s locked.”

  A crinkle appears above her nose. “AV equipment? Why?”

  “For the play auditions tomorrow afternoon.”

  Her eyes widen before they snap shut. She throws her head back and lets out a very loud, “Damn it!”

  I straighten from my relaxed pose on my car, scratching my arm in a nervous twitch. “Uh…”

  “Sorry,” she says, tilting her head forward. “I just can’t believe I forgot about auditions! And I’ve already got stuff going on, including a shift at Jamba. I’ll have to find someone to cover. There’s no way I’ll be able to do both.”

  “I’d offer but, uh…”

  “Yeah, you have to be there, too.” She growls and kicks her tire. “This came up so fast. I don’t even have a song prepared.”

  “That’s when you go for an easy one.”

  Her teeth sneak out and pull at her lip. “What would you suggest?”

  I clear my throat and hope my overloaded brain doesn’t spew out boring information nonstop.

  “Well, you said you were going for Ado Annie, but I wouldn’t do her solo.”

  “No?”

  I shake my head. “There’s a few key changes, and count changes, and too many people fighting for that part will
automatically go for that one. And it takes practice. Not saying you couldn’t do it—I’m sure you can… I—I was just saying from a logical standpoint, I guess…”

  She laughs and I feel my ears flame.

  “You’re not offending me,” she says, sounding genuinely interested in my explanation. “Keep going.”

  “Uh, okay…” I turn the pages of the play’s main vocal selections I have stocked away in my brain. “Given the time constraint you have, and the fact you’re allowed to use sheet music during auditions for the words, I think ‘Surrey with the Fringe on Top’ is your best bet.”

  She barks out a big gutful of laughter, and I’m pretty sure my ears can send out smoke signals.

  “Sorry, but, isn’t that a man’s part?”

  I nod.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, then, explain to me, oh wise one. How will this help me get the part I want?”

  Kate has a way of saying anything and making it sound like she’s not teasing or making fun of you. She’s just being curious, and my confidence builds in my chest.

  “First, I’ve heard you in the other musicals, and you have a…great range.” Okay, lame on the compliment, but I can’t find something else to replace it with. “And second, ‘Surrey’ is sung on an easy chord through the whole song. Third, I can guarantee you’ll be the only female singing it, which means either you’re ballsy, crazy, or incredibly talented. All of which are perfect for the theater.”

  Her face relaxes as she considers my suggestion, and ‘cause I don’t want to make her feel like she has to follow my logic, I add, “But, y-you’ll get the part no matter what you sing.”

  She fiddles with her hairband some more. “You know, I may try it.”

  I shrug, like she didn’t just make my insides curl in on themselves or my heart thud at the thought of her taking my advice on something she’s obviously a pro at already.

  After a moment, she straightens and flips her extra hairband back on her wrist. “Well, I really do have to go now, if I’m going to be practicing that song on top of everything else. I’ll see you tomorrow?”